More than Tchaikovsky ’s Romance
by persephoneia
Summary: Hermione Granger stumbles upon the room of requirement while finishing off her patrolling rounds. A very surprised Professor Severus Snape finds her there, with... a piano? A story of how music can bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses... HGSS
1. Chapter I, Part 1

**More than Tchaikovsky 's Romance**

By E. Caddy Compson (_persephoneia_)

**Summary **

Hermione stumbles upon the room of requirement while finishing off her patrolling rounds.

A very surprised Snape finds her there, with... a piano?! A story of how music can bewitch

the mind and ensnare the senses... HG/SS. AU following HBP and DH.

**Author's Note**

This is my first attempt at this pairing, so please bear with me... This is **not **a challenge

response fic, though I have been sucked in and inspired to write this pairing since stumbling

upon an answer to the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm

taking a break from **Please Don't Leave Me **for a tad, since the plot bunnies have yet to

drop an anvil on my head that screams "inspiration." This is, rather, something that came

to mind after having listened to Tchaikovsky's Romance, and played it on the piano, shortly

after having seen the latest _Harry Potter_ movie, so it was fresh in my mind. Interesting

how inspiration works. Enough of my ramblings, though, for now...

**Disclaimer**

I don't own anything except the plot... So basically, the storyline is mine, the characters

are J.K. Rowling's; I've just borrowed them for a bit. You might want to read books one

through five before you read this (spoilers alert...)...

Please Read and Review, and as always thanks for your time.

**Chapter I, Part 1: Leaving Behind the Deafening Silence, or A Song and a Few Dances**

_Late Fall, 1997_

The soft, swift padding of shoes on stone resounded lightly though the dimly lit

corridor. The flickering light of the torches on the walls met with the little illumination

imparted by the moon outside, to provide a sufficient view of the seventh floor corridor.

The Head Girl wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, increasingly aware of the

cold, as she neared the completion of her rounds, contemplating the events of the past half

hour.

She'd been assigned rounds with the exceedingly unpleasant seventh year Slytherin

Prefect, who'd spent his time preening at his reflection in the suits of armor they'd passed,

running his hands over his white blond locks, smoothing the short ponytail at his neck's

nape. Disgruntled with his demeaning arrogance, she had not hesitated to part ways with

him as quickly as possible, allowing him to take the dungeon portion of the route while she

finished the upper floors. All in all, it had its advantages, and both parties had swiftly

agreed to the solution.

As her thoughts drifted elsewhere, she began to hum to herself, a subconscious

action, going through broken bits and fragments of measured ballads, which abruptly

stopped as she passed a door she'd not been aware of on her previous rounds, earlier in the

week.

'The Room of Requirement,' her analytical mind immediately reasoned, recalling the

myriad meetings of her fifth year, with Harry and Dumbledore's Army. How vividly the

images came to her, the practices, the preparations, the Patronus.

She smiled, remembering the silvery-white otter that had erupted from her wand,

the sense of pride that had flushed her at achieving the conjuring that was very advanced

magic, indeed.

It was a warm feeling, it had been, really. And it could only have compared to... but

that had been a long time previous, and there was no point dwelling on the past. The music

in her life had long since faded to a deafening silence.

She sighed, looking the oaken door up and down, wand at the ready in her left hand

as she took one final look around the seemingly empty corridor.

_No one around. Curfew. Not a soul for scores of yards, twists and turns through the _

_castle__. Curfew. Almost late._

_No classes tomorrow._

A grin briefly graced her face as she reached to open the door.

It would just be five minutes, nothing more, just enough time to satisfy her innate

curiosity, that force that had engulfed her as she'd tried to turn away in reason.

_Why had the door appeared?_

Why had it indeed? She was certainly going to find out.

Taking a breath, the girl walked in, allowing the door to creak almost shut behind

her, noiselessly.

She gasped.

The room was warm, positively possessing a temperature higher than the connecting

corridor, likely due to the presence of a large fireplace to the left. The warmth permeated

the air, not suffocating, but enough to heat the surface of one's skin to cozy delight after

having wondered through the chilly halls.

The girl walked across a rather large square of wooden floor at the center of the

room to the several chairs and sofa gathered around the welcoming source of heat, laying

down her ink black cloak before cautiously approaching the back of the room.

A sharp intake of breath was heard, as she passed her hand seemingly in disbelief,

over the smooth, obsidian surface, arching along its edge, the nine foot length of the

curving case, lifting the large lid, and securing it. She took another breath, sitting at the

matching bench, placing back the fall, and admiring the contrast of the white and black, the

natural keys and the sharps and flats, the full compass, 88 notes, 7 ¼ octaves, above the

keyslip.

_The scales. Simple enough._

Octaves of notes rang through the air, not as mechanical as they were meant to

sound, but with a spice, an added fervor of not only one who had played quite a long while,

but unique to a few who possessed a gift for playing. The touch was fantastic, phenomenal.

_Chords and Arpeggios.__ Shouldn't be too hard._

Three notes and five notes and major sevenths and minors and diminished and

scores of combinations sung out, slowly at first, and then with a sure, rapid confidence as

her muscle memory came flooding back, her feet dancing over the pedals.

It had been a while since Hermione Lynn Granger had played the piano. Seven

years, in fact, had it been since her long, soft fingers had caressed the smooth ivory of

piano keys, seven years of unwanted silence, seven years without dance.

Hermione had a talent rarely found, a musical inclination the likes of which was

scarce seen. At a young age this had become evident, as she sang soprano with her Church

choir, played piano accompaniment for school performances, and even danced across the stage

at a fundraising talent show.

No instructor had ever found the patience to teach her, to take her as a student, to

mold her as all musicians were thought to be best. No, Hermione had been un-teachable,

much to her parents' dismay, tut-tutted for her disregard of the "rules" of music, those

guidelines that were meant to be followed, but limited the blossoming creativity of any

young musician.

She sighed. Her mother had been distraught, her father discouraged, and her

lessons had been discontinued at age six, almost a score of instructors later. But her

playing had not stopped.

No, they could not take away her music.

She jumped as the form of the Gryffindor Ghost appeared from inside the piano.

"So sorry. Please do continue, Hermione. You play quite lovely, actually," he looked

up past her, but she did not gaze to his direction, instead pulling out her wand and uttering

some words under her breath. She used the wand to tie her chestnut waves up in a chaste

rendition of a French twist, before extending an arm to the specter.

"Would you care to dance, Sir Nicholas?" she asked.

His eyes shot back to hers, and he smiled. "It's been quite a long while since I have,

and I'm not sure..." his voice trailed off as he heard the classical music that filled the air.

Lassus, it was, certainly of his time. She grinned as he looked at her, puzzled.

"I'm impressed, Hermione."

She smiled in response, as they headed away from the concert grand piano to the

middle of the room, over the wooden surface that she'd now realized was a dance floor.

_Amoroso, Anello, Gelosia, Petit Reinse, Rostiboli Gioioso, Ballo del Fiori, Bransle _

_Aridan__, Washerwomen's Bransle, Return of Spring..._

It was amazing how interesting it could be, dancing with a ghost, really. It was

rather like practicing by one's self, but rather, without the awkwardness.

Hermione twirled and moved in response to Nick's motions, rarely missing a beat

and going through one of his arms, a chilling experience, truth be told.

When the music stopped, she caught her breath.

"That was wonderful, Sir Nicholas," she said.

"The pleasure was all mine, Hermione," he returned, before vanishing suddenly.

It was then that she realized she was not alone.

Then that a clapping filled the air, the polite gulf clap so often heard, just slow

enough to border on unflattering mockery, but not quite completely there.

It was then that Hermione looked up to find herself almost face to face with Severus

Snape.

**Author's Note**

Well, that's the beginnings. I know, some of my readers are possibly wondering

about my other unfinished work. I do plan on updating it sometime in the near future

But in case you were wondering, I do plan on finishing **Please Don't Leave Me**

(which is Draco/Hermione, as opposed to this story. I'm still not sure where I'm going to

take that fic, though), I just decided I needed to explore some new situations and such with

my writing, and well, quite honestly, the plot bunnies came calling, and I was inspired.

I hope sincerely that you found the beginnings enjoyable.

By E. Caddy Compson (_persephoneia_)


	2. Chapter I, Part 2

**More than Tchaikovsky 's Romance**

By E. Caddy Compson (_persephoneia_)

**Summary **

Hermione stumbles upon the room of requirement while finishing off her patrolling rounds.

A very surprised Snape finds her there, with... a piano?! A story of how music can bewitch

the mind and ensnare the senses... HG/SS

**Author's Note**

Thanks for your reviews. And now, the lovely chapter two, which focuses on Severus and

why I had to include some of the seemingly unnecessary drabble in the first chapter. I do

draw a lot of parallels with the last chapter in this one, so it may seem a tad repetitive, but

it does serve a purpose. No major plot developments this chapter, just more spotlighting

the windmills of the potions master's mind. Read on and enjoy, and please leave me a

review and let me know what you think :)

Next update should be in a week or sooner, depending on the reviews... (and how long it takes

me to finish up my college applications)

I do extend my apologies in advance, as the formatting here has me a tad bit confuzzled.

I will try to fix that as soon as I can...

**Chapter I, Part 2: A Surprise of Grand Proportions**

_Late Fall, 1997_

Steps resounded through the dungeon corridors. Billowing black robes contrasted

not too sharply with the dim surroundings, scarce few torches in this area of the castle, and

certainly no windows to aid matters.

The sweeping eyes of the potions master quickly spotted the lanky blond sauntering

across the hall.

That couldn't be right.

He approached the young man.

"Mister Malfoy," he said, in silky tones, the likes of which were infamous for

captivating attention, if just above a whisper.

The seventh year prefect had turned, in a manner not unlike that of the former

Death Eater, robes swirling about, to face the man. A nervous property crossed the young

man's features for a fraction of a second, before he replaced the mask of indifference and

languor that had come to personify him.

"Yes, Professor," he lightly drawled.

"What," he asked, "may I ask, are you doing around the dungeon corridors at this

time?"

The answer, of course, was obvious. Severus Snape would have had to be a fool not

to have overheard the loudly voiced complaints of his pseudo-star pupil. Patrol duty on a

Friday night was a thing quite scorned by Prefects and Heads, but when it combined a

certain snarky blond Slytherin with a quick witted wavy haired Gryffindor, the results could

be explosive.

"Prefect duty," the young man had answered, a tad too quickly than would have

been expected, and with a slight catch at the first syllable that meant that there was more

to the situation than met the eye.

"Really, Mister Malfoy?" the professor rejoined. "Then why is it you are

unaccompanied in your patrol?"

There was a hesitation. It was a thing that would be sure to cause the boy much

pain had he been under the interrogation of the Dark Lord, and they both knew it, but the

young man failed to admit to or acknowledge.

"Granger figured we could cover more ground this way," he drawled.

'Ah yes, blame it all on the Gryffindor,' thought Severus, masking his amusement.

"Go to the Common Room, Mister Malfoy," he said, "and don't let it happen again."

Draco Malfoy nodded his response, and walked away, in the direction of the wall that

was the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.

Eyes of obsidian narrowed as a smirk seldom seen on any but a Slytherin briefly

graced the features of the Potions Master.

Taking his wand from his pocket once more, he headed for the upper floors of the

castle. He was looking forward to deducting, say, fifty House Points from Gryffindor,

looking forward to the confrontation with Minerva McGonagall over detention given to Little-

Miss-Perfect, Potter's Princess, the insufferable know-it-all who had tormented him for far

too long. Oh, this night would turn out better than he'd imagined.

Severus Snape was certain he'd missed her, certain the little bushy-haired hellion

had crept off to Gryffindor Tower already, certain his hopes for good fun and torment had

been dashed to bits, when he heard it.

He likely would not have noticed the sound, would likely have thought it to be a

product of his own mind, or mistaken it for something else, had it not been for his years of

work and the keen concentration he was so accustomed to putting into everything, not only

spying, but potion-making as well.

_Piano notes graced the air with a fluid elegance the likes of which he'd not heard in a _

_great__ many years. The conclusion of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was followed by a brief _

_pause__, and then... Romance. Tchaikovsky._

Where was the noise coming from? It was a truly beautiful melody, chords

combining with choice notes to form a true masterpiece. Something to truly bewitch the

mind and ensnare the senses indeed.

He followed the noise, down the seventh floor hallway, turning a corner, through

another corridor, before seeing it.

At the end of the hall stood an oaken door ajar, a ribbon of flickering light visible

along its rightmost edge, musical notes escaping through what probably should have been a

soundproof door.

He crept closer stealthily, noiselessly opening and shutting the door, silently moving

into the shadows. The sight that met him there was one to make the mouth so often turned

into a sneer form a small o, if not send his jaw crashing to the floor.

In the large, warm, pleasant room, all the way at the back, past a large square floor

panel of wood, there was a concert grand piano. Likely nine feet in length, a nice size,

obsidian in color, shining as though recently polished, it was, although that was not what

had surprised him.

What had stunned the potions master had been the young lady seated at the bench

of the instrument, playing a waltz at the moment, and from this distance he could observe

the quick movements of slender fingers across the keyboard.

She sat straight, occasionally moving her head just so, in an attempt to persuade the

wavy russet tendrils to settle behind her shoulders, and at this site, he felt himself fighting

the amused upturning at the corners of his mouth.

Her feet were moving on the pedals, in a graceful manner, and then there were her

fingers. No unnecessary movement took place; everything had a purpose, a fluid

refinement about the unique style that was this young woman's own.

Then that ghost had appeared.

Sorry excuse for a beheaded phantom that he was, he had startled the playing

pianist, bringing the melodious playing to a stop.

It was then that the bumbling Gryffindor Ghost had spoken. "So sorry. Please do

continue, Hermione. You play quite lovely, actually," he looked up past her, and right at the

potions master, a flicker of surprise passing over his features, apparently unnoticed by the

young woman at the bench.

Nearly Headless Nick did not mention his presence there, likely for fear of the Bloody

Baron, the ghost of Slytherin House, but was brought to attention when the young girl

asked him to dance.

Severus had seen her briefly charm the piano, a practice not uncommon in the

wizarding world, easily achieved and practical for light entertaining, where the main purpose

was relentless chatter or, of course, dancing. What was uncommon had been her musical

choice, fifteenth century, it sounded, likely Lassus or a close contemporary; it was in that

style, in any event.

The young girl had twisted her hair up in a somewhat sloppy manner atop her head,

using what appeared to be her wand to hold it in place. He raised an inky brow at this,

making a note to berate her for it later.

Having reached the center of the dance floor, the ghost and girl had proceeded to

dance, and yet it would seem like so much more.

Twirling, smiling, giggling, laughing, round and about, spinning, stepping, dipping

she went, knee length black skirt flowing around her in a manner as would be expected

beneath water, seemingly in slow motion. She looked something serene, swirling supplely

on her feet, occasionally missing the intended position, based on that of her counterpart,

but not frequently, and certainly less often than was to be expected, given the situation.

It was surely something more graceful than Severus Snape would have pictured.

Indeed, he had never connected music with the girl in front of him now. Her persona, her

manner of presenting herself, her priorities... It was something that surprised him, and

Severus Snape was not easily surprised.

And those notes ringing through the air...

_Amoroso, Anello, Gelosia, Petit Reinse, Rostiboli Gioioso, Ballo del Fiori, Bransle _

_Aridan__, Washerwomen's Bransle, Return of Spring..._

He continued to survey the scene before him silently from the shadows, frowns

crossing his features now and then as he attempted to piece together all the pieces of the

puzzle before him, scathing scrutiny surfacing, though he did not voice it.

Hermione Granger was a plain sort of girl, really. She was of average height and a

tad lanky, truth be told, more willowy than curvaceous. Her face was not something

remarkably memorable, (neither for its beauty or lack thereof, the latter point one would

find difficult to have any Slytherin in their right mind admit to) though it possessed that

subtle classic charm that was difficult to place. Her eyes were not of brilliant azure, or

glistening emerald, or even hazel, but a dark brown, the same as her hair, not blonde or

red, but russet instead, though its long length was something of note, if ever mild. She had

let it grow out, so that it reached nearly her waist, the mass of frizz and curls that had

previously resembled something close to a bird's nest clearly weighed down by the action,

and settling down, just enough to appear human.

Severus bit back a chuckle at this thought, and once again noted the wand holding

the mass of chestnut in place, a scowl setting in.

'Perhaps the buck-teeth and bushier mane were somehow connected to brain

activity,' he mused, crossing his arms and making a move to approach the dancing duo

ahead of him.

As he neared, however, the music faded, song ending as the Gryffindor ghost and

head girl slowed and ceased their movements.

Flushed cheeks flaring rosy, breath quickened, white oxford shirt rumpled, toffee

tendrils of wavy hair spilling from the mass of curls fastened to her crown, the girl smiled

warmly at her dance partner.

"That was wonderful, Sir Nicholas," she said.

"The pleasure was all mine, Hermione," the ghost replied, before fading away

abruptly.

That beaming on the girl's face quickly faded, an audible gasp emitted by lips parted

in surprise, color quickly draining from her blanching face, as auburn eyes widened in

trepidation.

For the first time that evening, the presence of Severus Snape was realized by

Hermione Granger. And for the first time in a long time, the astute potions master failed to

realize something: he was applauding her efforts. Not a roaring clapping, or even fervent,

but polite and reserved, not quite so slow to indicate mockery, indeed the closest he ever

came to commending the efforts and talents of another.

**Author's Note**

I hope my readers have found this to their liking. Please be sure to let me know what you

thought... Come on, submit a review!! You know you want to!!

Seriously, though: let me know what you thought, any suggestions you might have,

constructive criticism is welcome, too :) Let me know what I can do to make my writings

more enjoyable.

By E. Caddy Compson (_persephoneia_)


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